Stained  Conscience
by Octavo Nous
Summary: "Will I ever get my life back?" The van's speed noticeably slowed. Kowalski's eyebrows rose. Not that one question. Rico looked away. Only Skipper held his sight, frowning. "No."
1. Warning

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**Warning.**

**This story was written with the sole purpose of entertaining the author. All of the views represented by the characters, which are based on the characters originally created by Tom McGrath and Eric Darnell, do not represent the ones of the author. Before reading on to the following chapters note that the story will contain violence, physical and psychological abuse, strong language, homosexual relationships, and implicit sexual situations. If you feel offended by any of the themes mentioned before you are recommended against reading the following chapters.  
****With the excuse of this warning and the story's rating, the later chapters, if ever posted may contain any if not all of the situations previously mentioned, as well as the mentioning of a character's opinion which may be offending to some or any of the readers. The comedy intended on this fiction is thought to be crude and only suitable to mature audience. This warning applies to all of the chapters.  
The update rate of this fiction is most likely to be slow, and may be discontinued at any point under the author's criteria. **

**With no further due, you may choose to proceed to the story, under your own reasonableness.**

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	2. Prologue

_Bang_!

The sound was heard all over the block, as three men stepped into the _Mellow Bank_, making every average bank user jump and twirl in the direction of the entrance. Most of which froze where they stood, all of which fell silent. A small chunk fell down from the ceiling, hitting the black and white marble floor. Some people visually shook to the sudden jolt of noise. There was a shadow restraining the daylight that should be coming from the open door. Three men stood at the doorway, one of them holding a gun to the air.

The cashiers cried frightened, lifting their hands up simultaneously. Laughter could be heard from the opposite side of the counter. The ruffians stood there, almost posing, for a couple of seconds before the one on the center began to buff around to the crowd, giving a clear air of authority. Blue menacing eyes touring through the reception of the bank. The other two staid put in their positions at the doorway, waiting for further orders. All of the raiders wore sleek black suits, elegantly dressed for the robbery. But apart from that, and the deep blue eyes they all had, not one of them looked anything like the others.

Their leader, who could be easily told apart by his bossy attitude, ran a hand through his military-short combed black hair. Despite his height, that one man out of the three seemed to be the most imposing. There was a thick silence after he was done speaking. Warily, he eyed his comrades, both of them armed. _This should be easy enough_, he told himself, heading towards the counter.

Taking a few steps ahead of the others he smiled cocky at the receptionist. She gasped, horrified. His team seemed to find this _hilarious_.

The second criminal chuckled, turning his head to stare at the third, tallest, criminal, just as the security guards were beginning to dash for them. It took him no longer than eight seconds to shoot the three of them with a gun they hadn't seen he had. All of them hit the ground within instants. He shifted his crooked nose left and right like some sort of animal, while flashing a strange and rather disturbing smile down to the two guards who were still breathing.

The gang's leader signaled the tallest of them three to a door, and then proceeded to walk over to the cashier placing a gun steadily against the shaken man's head.

The tallest man, whose hair was entirely brushed back to his head, walked clumsy around the frightened figures and set himself to work on the vault where the bank kept its money.

The first, blue eyed, man, then, began to work on the cashier.

"You know what we want, so don't be a bother." He said. Said cashier shook of his fear for a second before he turned around and handled the Mellow Back's set of keys to the figure who held a gun against him.

Once on hold on the keys he turned around to check on his comrades.

The tallest of them had managed to open the bank's vault before the cashier had handed him the key to it. Meanwhile the second was doing an amazing job on scaring the witnesses. He smiled pleased at their work, and with a gesture set the buffer off to help the tall one carry the bank's money out of the vault.

But then a sound stopped him.

He turned 90 degrees sharp to face back to the man who had handed him the keys. Said man did his best to hide the telephone from the criminal's view, failing miserably at it. The assaulter frowned, before marching forward to the cowering cashier, and shot him in the head. He cringed in anger, and shot a blasphemy to the cashier's corpse before shifting back to his gang.

"_Kowalski_," He barked. "_Options_."

The alluded man stood and blinked at his commander once before mumbling out a few words. "We could, uh," His voice grew louder, "Take the money and a hostage and run."

His leader nodded to that.

"_Rico_!" He cried. "Take the money to the van. _Pronto_. You help him." He signaled both of his men and then turned to stare at the possible hostages.

The crowd shifted in fear of what would happen to any of them. A tenser silence than the last took place as the man scanned through every face among the users, most of which would shrink in their places before meeting with his sapphire glare. He scanned through the entire bank, stopping over at one small and slightly round figure. He smiled pleased with his find and took a step in his direction. The young boy held his eyes for a second before cringing like a kid being stared at by a teacher who's just asked a particularly hard question. He chuckled once before stretching his arm to hold the kid's shoulder.

The boy yelped and a girl beside him screamed, ducking her head into her arms, maybe afraid that the man would launch for her. _Coward_, the boy muttered, applying no resistance to the ruffian's pull. He liked the kid already.

The taller man dragged along the younger one to the entrance of the bank where his men stood shooting. Four police department patrol cars were parked besides the bullet proof black van where the remaining raiders took cover. The red headed growled and gritted his teeth in annoyance. _How in hell did they get there so quickly?_ Then the man referred to as Kowalski called out for his leader, who hardly even paid notice.

The shorter man ducked, pulling the young boy with him, at the back of the truck.

"So what's your name _kiddo_?" He asked.

"_Louie_" Louie's lip trembled as he spoke. "_Louie Tux_."

The criminal frowned. "Wrong answer." He said. Louie gapped, his whole figure comically dropping, as his attention focused only on the man before him, rather than on the shooting going on besides him. That man was definitely worst than his biology teacher.

"_What_?" His lips shaped the word, but the man didn't seem to hear him. He just smiled confidently while stating:

"Your name is Private."


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: The Chase **

"_And would it kill you to stop faking that damned accent_?" The leader of the criminals screamed exasperated.

"For the love of God," Louie pleaded, "I'm not faking it!"

Skipper just sighted, regretting his decision to pick that nuisance out of the crowd. There was a prolonged moment of silence between the four. The man at Louie's left grinning maniacally.

He was sitting in the back, besides the huge red headed buff. On the passenger sit laid the man who'd kidnapped him on the first place, and besides him, driving, was the third criminal, and the tallest, who didn't seem as much of a menace as the other two. Tired of counting the patches on the front seat, Louie stared out the window, frowning, as the hideous man's head blocked his view. He was still unable to get over the fact that the man who apparently went by the name of '_Skipper_' refused to acknowledge what his real name was and thought his accent was fake. _Hell_, he didn't even get the accent right! That freaking street rat thought he was _Australian_! Think he'd get out of school to climb unto this mess.

The arguing criminal stretched his muscles and took his both hands up to the back of his neck, tasting the winning argument in his tongue. He felt the seat adjust to his familiar figure with a smile.

"You know," His voice loomed as he gave a cold stare back to Louie, "If you're going to be on my team, I'm not putting up with that silly Australian accent of yours"

The boy couldn't care less he just called him Australian, _again_, his thought went to a much more concerning matter.

"_Bloody Hell_! You're recruiting me!" He cried.

The tires screwed on the pavement, driving the van to a sudden turn, before it jolted off. The three older men seemed entirely unaffected by this. Skipper just laid back still in his original position, in a pure state of relaxation, even as his comrade screamed at him.

"We're recruiting _him_?" Rico supported this gesture with a series of incomprehensible guttural noises.

"What?" Skipper turned to look at them. "Can't you give the lad a chance?"

"I thought we agreed to recruit a _girl_ this time!"

"Hey, this boy is the _equivalent_!"

"That's disgusting, and spoils all my plans for the possible incognito scenario!"

"You shouldn't have planned those so early!"

"_Gwat e' Juck we'e ya Think'ng_?"

Louie frowned, if possible, even harder. It was unspeakably rude to discuss of him in such manner, specially, when he was able to hear everything they were saying. From the '_He's not fuckable_' part to the '_He'll probably die in an explosion_' one. That's when he noticed that, involved in their argument they had shifted to paying zero attention to anything that was beyond them. He eyed the group with quick and short flashes, as if his sight could disrupt them. He took it was the right moment when the Mohawked redhead began shouting.

He pressed his fingers against the metal doorknob. There were a few coins, he noticed, scattered at the floor's black carpet. With a shaking hand he unlocked the door and opened it, and caring not to make the slightest noise, slipped out, shutting the door for him, the door slammed itself loudly, calling immediately for the trio's attention. He cringed till it made his face resemble a fully grown tomato, his whole body shaking in fear. There was a short silence followed by the pounding of all three men struggling to get out of the car. He felt adrenaline explode inside of him, and the shiver in his legs translated to a colossal amount of energy he took to dash in the opposite direction they were taking him.

Louie couldn't find it in him to scream as he heard the criminal gang running after him.

True, they all felt astonished when they heard the door locking shot, and realised the boy wasn't there. But Skipper just found a guilty pleasure become a sly smile on his lips as he sang.

"_I told you so_."

He didn't need to hear a response to know his men were already stuffing themselves out of the car, and with so he proceeded to mimic them.

By the time they were out the kid had gained a good distance from the van. Skipper grinned like a fool. Instinct 19, Kowalski's darned science, 0! They all ran in for him, he'd be sure to point out the kid's speed later on.

"Hey!" He screamed. As expected Private just forced more speed on his running. Discarding that as an obvious failure, he moved on to plan B.

"Rico!" The buffy man running at his right turned his attention to his leader, make a noise as to assure that fact. "Throw me a rope already!" Skipper commanded.

Rico did as he was told and pulled a rope out of one of the waist pockets on his suit. Skipper took it from him, immediately starting to make a lasso. How his erratic little friend was able to hide such gadget in those small lazy pockets was beyond him. He was just glad he always had what they needed.

As a matter of fact Rico could feel, jumping inside his jacket, at least four bucks in pennies, three blueberry flavoured pieces of bubble gum, a Swiss knife, and other few metal clicking gears. He smiled with a scared mouth and eight false teeth. True was he was a pack rat. It was only a lucky coincidence that the things he liked to keep served well on missions.

The trio's leader was huffing a few steps ahead than the other. His legs running on automatic. He focused his attention on looping the rope and aiming it at the boy's ankles. Here goes nothing, he thought, just before shooting the rope to the air in hopes of catching the small frame like he had caught so many Germans, back on the days with Manfreddi and Johnson.

The lasso flew through the wind, but began loosing height a few feet behind the boy. The men had stopped on their tracks and they all stared, holding their breaths, at their leader's shot. Kowalski made the calculation almost unwillingly on his head; the speed at which the boy ran, the acceleration of the rope, coinciding with the assumed force Skipper applied with his arm, strength, direction, and velocity of the wind, it should be a perfect shot, and would catch it's prey in three, two, one...

_Pufft_. The rope hit the ground. The scientist gawked as the kid leaped forward, avoiding completely the lasso that was meant to hold both his ankles. But opposed to him, his leader smiled widely while muttering something about the kid's instinct.

In an instant they had all resumed the chase, as the wannabe cowboy gathered the rope in his left arm.

"Going for another shot?" Kowalski gave him a stern look, but it didn't shake Skipper's amazement out of his face. The amused man shook his head to a speed matching his pace.

"Plan A and B have both failed, Kowalski" He sneered. "Give me options!"

The taller man rolled his eyes. Was he even trying? With the lack of an answer, the smaller figure kept on chattering.

"Damn, he's fucking faster than a _negro_ in sight of a penny."

Then it hit him. Kowalski slammed his forehead against his palm in frustration, giving an abrupt stop, before speeding in the opposite direction. Skipper turned to watch his compadre run away from him, his smile finally shifting into a mop.

"Aww, C'me on Kowalski! You know I didn't mean your cousin Paul!"

The team strategist ignored his leader's remark about his family and sighted as he reached back to the van, plucking the keys out of his pocket. He mentally cursed Skipper's instincts.

A scream, long settled inside Louie's throat, came out at last when he heard the van's engine coming to life less than a mile away from him. He took his first chance and ran out of the highway, loosing himself in the forest. Kowalski cursed loudly having to get of the van again. It took him a while to catch up with the others, who had still proved themselves unable to catch up with the kid. Truth was, after only fifteen minutes running Louie was already exhausted. But either way he could stop. His fear was too much as to let his mind notice how his legs where sore. Thought he was amazed that they still hadn't used any gun power on him.

Then, as if fate has read his thought, it crossed Rico's mind that he still had his gun with him. He was already tired of chasing the little kid who ran like a hare. He didn't struggle to find his gun inside his pocket, aiming directly at the boy. A wide grin widened his face, his finger clutching the trigger.

Although, for his surprise a hand pushed his arm, ruining his perfect shot.

"_What are you thinking, man_?" Skipper complained. "We don't want him _dead_!" Rico just groaned in response. As a matter of fact, having him cold wouldn't really bother his conscience.

But what nether of them had expected was for the kid to scream and drop to his knees the second he heard the gun shoot. His hands well behind his nape.

Kowalski did notice the kid had in him all the common sense that both his comrades lacked.

The three of them circled him, leaving just enough space for him to keep his arms in such awkward position.

Skipper crossed his arms and frowned at him, but still didn't bother to inform him of his disappointment. He stopped before he was even hit! The boy had potential, but there was still a lot of training he'd have to go through.

"What's your age, Kid?" The first question in science tests as well as in interrogation was quiet usually the easiest one. The one if you screwed up meant not a single one of the rest would be fine.

"_Nineteen_." Louie said. Skipper's eyebrow perked up. _Nineteen? Sixteen more like it._ He scoffed, bringing his face up and giving a mocking stare to his taller comrades. The younger man pouted, already acknowledging his 'mistake'.

"We're not the _police_," He joked, giving out a faint chuckle at the last word. "You can tell us your _real_ age!"

Louie sent a pleading look to the tallest man, who became highly unsettled by this. Kowalski searched for help in Rico's face, though he never hoped to find it anyway. He coughed into his left fist, clearing his throat, before calling down to his commander.

"Ah, Skipper," He started. "Hasn't it occurred to you that _Louie_ has no sort incentive to lie to us?" It sounded as more of a fact then a question. Louie's frown loosened, gathering the fact that one of them remembered what his actual name was, and was also advocating for him.

"His name is _Private_!" The leader barked. "And I won't buy any of his lies until proven truths!"

Both the taller and the younger men rolled their eyes at such statement. The youngest of all four men only thanked the lack of bullets in his skin.

The four figures stood still, waiting for the verdict. The boy nailed his eyes to the dirt in his uniform, avoiding the feeling that ran down his spine. Three shadows clouding him. Still and quiet, the older men stood, gazing down into his figure. He registered every noise from the forest, waiting for the click of a gun loading, if it wasn't loaded already.

"Listen up, Private," The shortest of the three rangers called again, breaking the silence. His voice made the alluded boy jump and raise his sight nervously. Skipper gave one last sever look down into the kid's eyes. Blue, he noticed. Perfect.

"_You're under trial_."

It was a death sentence. He knew it. Whatever impulse inside of him shook, he stood up stat to those words and crashed his shoulder into the taller man, who being the skinniest just seamed easier to tackle. He sprinted eight steps away until his heart raced to a stop. The heat coming from his calf extended through his body. His hearing had been taken away by the sound of the gunshot. Not that there was much to hear, since none of the kidnappers had busied themselves chasing after him this time. But he kept limping away. _He couldn't fall. He couldn't fall._ Only his force of will kept him going, until a second sound wave he couldn't recognize collided against his healthy leg. He felt his throat ache in a scream, but he couldn't hear it. The ground was suddenly much closer, but the fall didn't hurt half as much as the bullets in both his legs.

The forest crunched ever so slightly as the three suited men moved their triangle formation to where he stood checking his wounds. He couldn't care any less, his legs curling up into a ball, his hands closing over his wounds, his fingers staining in blood. There where shadows around him, crowding the boy. Louie's throat fighting to be heard thought nothing ever overcame the constant shriek pierced to his ears. His heartbeats skipped the veins through his body and pumped right at his head and wounds. His vision began blurring into black. Chills electrified his spine as the figures inclined closer to him, robbing him of air, clouding his vision. Darkness menaced with over powering him, as the chills became softer and the noises around him became clearer. They were speaking about him again, though this time he wasn't too sure what to make of it.

He fought as if the shadows where an opposing army. His will pushing forward. The tiredness pulling him back. His eyes would flutter, his mouth halve open in a plead never spoken, until the shadows evolved him entirely, in the sweet rest of obnoxiousness.

There was a moment when he believed he'd regained consciousness. The darkness being replaced by flaring lights. Three figures opposed to said glimmer. They were in the van again. Only this time the tall reasonable man was besides him. He seemed to be working on his wounds, which felt warmer than the rest of his body. The leader sat again at the passenger seat, mouthing some inaudible dialogue to the man besides him. Then he met Skipper's eyes. The blue so radiant it trespassed his eyelids after he closed them, and was the last thing he saw before it all went back to black.

Then, at the end, he lost the war against obscurity. His lashes felt like iron bars dropping into each other. The noise coming to an end. For a while, it was all over. Until it began again.

His chest was flat, ribs pulled in holding an unnatural posture.

Louie's head span, though he thanked that most lights had apparently been turned off. All but one soft glimmer in the background. And then, there was the same blue that haunted him from before his black out. He went through a moment of dizziness, before jolting out in fear, but finding himself almost unable to move.

"Welcome back Private." That terrifying voice sang. "Glad to see you're awake. How's your legs doing?"

Besides him, Kowalski rolled his eyes, and bit his tongue not to correct his leader's grammar. Louie stared at each man for a small fraction of a second before giving out a scream._ Hell they were going to kill him!_ He struggled with the ropes that tied him to what was probably a tree, and again, found it impossible to do more than scratch his elbows. Until suddenly a hand slapped him through the face. He stared in disbelieve.

"Are you done being a girl now?" Skipper seemed unimpressed by his wailing. Louie found it in his instincts to shut his mouth at that statement. "Yeah, I thought so." The short man menaced. Louie swallowed harsh and held his eyes straight open. He didn't have the guts to ask what was about to happen.

Taking the silence as a cue, Kowalski stood in front of Skipper and poked Louie's mouth opened. The boy began feeling even more nervous as the elder further examined his legs and abdomen. The Mohawk snickering darkly at his left.

Louie took the moment to stare at his surroundings. There was a small bonfire near by, and the van was stationed besides it. It looked like the gang had driven into a clearing. The sky was already dark, filled with thousand of stars, so it must have been fairly enough away from the city. He wondered where he was and how far precisely they didn't have much back at New York, but he had a better chance of a life anywhere but with those criminals. He wondered how his uncle was doing, whether he was or wasn't dead worried about him. He shouldn't have agreed to leave England with him. He knew leaving home was a bad idea! So on, his mind wandered farther and farther away from the psychotic gang and the tree he was tied to. It happened then, that Skipper decided it was time to bring him back to reality.

"You're a good runner, Private, but you still have to prove yourself if you want to be a part of this team." He spoke smoothly, analysing Louie with one eye half closed. "_But I don't _want_ to be a part of this team_!" The boy complained trying to reason some sense into the older man. Thought, said mad didn't seem to listen. "Tomorrow morning," He said "if you manage to escape from this tree, your part of the team." Louie was very close to asking the 'and what if I don't want to be a part of your team', just when Skipper finished his statement. "If you don't, we'll kill you."His eyes shot open. He knew they were going to kill him.

"Sleep well Private!" He sneered. "See ya tomorrow!"


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Go Fishing**

The Ford Model A Van was quiet popular over that time, so it seemed common to see an awful lot of them in the streets. But there was a particular one that gave an eerie feeling to its witnesses, in the way it slowly roamed through. Three men on the inside of said van staring out. Kowalski's long nose chopping the streets through half, as he stared straight out forwards. Skipper's and Rico's eyes looking away in a 90 degrees angle from Kowalski's nose, in opposite directions. All three men would watch in an ever so hard-boiled manner, they wouldn't have noticed a boy following the automobile, if there had been one. The silence over throwing anything else. They were purely concentrated on their single objective. Finding that boy and learning how he managed to escape.

Kowalski had been on guard all night and he hadn't sensed a thing happening. Well, that might have had something to do with him concentrating on that experiment...But he was sure there was no way the boy could escape! And yet, he did. It amazed them all in the morning to the point that Skipper gave a loud victory cry. His recruit had proven himself worthy of the team. Now, they just had to find him again.

Far away from said van, Louie was enjoying a wonderful pastry down at Roger's Café, with an even more wonderful lady. He had met her less than a little ago, but his feelings for her stung in his chest. She was perfect to him! Her blond hair falling on a slightly curved pony tail perfectly tied to her head. The delicate way she held the spoon when she fed him. She would pamper him in every possible manner. So he found it natural to tell her over and over how he was sure she was a fallen angel. In response, her soft laughter filling the atmosphere.

Six Hours Earlier

A man, closely a corpse collapsed four blocks away from the hospital. His breathing was hard and swollen. There was no count on how long he spent on that alley, until a set of lights stationed themselves besides him. An ambulance, on its way back to the Presbyterian, had spotted him, while passing by. The doctors on the inside rushed out and checked his pulse to confirm he still had a small ray of life in him.

He had two bullet holes, one on each leg, yet no bullets, and both wounds where pressed by ragged clothes stained in blood; he also had a small contusion on his head, and he seemed close to death from exhaustiveness. They took him in and a nurse, a beautiful young intern, whose eyes where set on the boy from the minute they cleaned his face, stayed with him through the rest of the night.

By the time dawn arrived, the boy was sleeping soundly. His wounds bandaged properly, and he seemed to have fully recovered.

When he awoke, she was like an angel. Standing beside him, smiling warmly. She pampered him, from the very start, with sweet words and flashes from her long mascara-coated lashes.

"How are we feeling?" She asked sweetly, holding his hand. He returned the smile, his eyebrows rising in amazement.

"I could just say perfect," He stared into her with light blue eyes, "But I think I still need a hug from a beautiful lady and I guess that would make it."

She smiled.

Present.

Shauna giggled, as he elaborately spoke, making big gestures with his hands. There were a few pauses when she fed him whipped cream from the top of the tart they were sharing.

"I don't believe you." She laughed. "That gang probably doesn't even exist!"

"Oh, trust me!" Louie cried, in a charming British accent. "How else could I have these holes on my legs? I'm telling you, it's all true."

She paused her laughter to stare into him. Her lashed curling perfectly over her eyes, and her light red lips curving in a seductive smile.

"You're so brave." He voice was significantly lower, yet it reached him like velvet, his ears turning red. A foolish smile breaking his cool.

There was a pause, as they both stared at each other, so warmly that neither of them noticed a black Ford A Model Van stationed besides their table. They couldn't have cared any less about the buffy man that walked out of the back seat. That is until he grabbed Louie by both shoulders and shouted something that ringed to the words 'Got Him!'

Before shoving him back into the car as Shauna screamed for help. Louie called for her, "Shauna!" "Shauna!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. There was a huge drama made, but not big enough in order to stop any of the criminals from taking their Private back to the road with them.

"Welcome back Private" Skipper chuckled, before adding in a mocking tone. "Sorry to disrupt you little date."

Louie muttered something, his face pale as a ghost. Then to his shock he was shoved forwards by two long pale hands. He met the taller man's face so close he could smell the tuna he had for breakfast.

"How in Newton's name did you escape?" He shouted. Skipper slapped him in return.

"Drive Kowalski. Leave the boy with his secret scape tactics."  
Kowalski rubbed his cheek before muttering an apology, followed by a word which Private was very unsure the meaning of. His eyes darted from spot to spot, his mouth hanging open. The small pause in their conversation was only a excuse for him then to gather all his strength and courage to speak up.

"_What do you want from me_?"

Skipper hadn't expected the boy to talk so soon. But again, he was all glad the boy had the guts in him. A wry smile spread through his face, but he remained quiet. Looking up to the road ahead. He didn't really mind they'd have to drive all the way back to the H.Q.'s. He was still one interrogation short with the boy, and he was going to take the time they had to squeeze every bit of knowledge the boy had in him. To tell the truth he was all too fond of his new Private. His little sense of insubordination the gang leader would have to get rid off. If Private had been telling the truth then he was close to ten years younger then himself. That was the same age he was when he joined the army, eight years younger then when they kicked him out, and five years younger then when he, Rico, and a pair of deserters formed their little gang. Plus he had a spark in him. Skipper wasn't too sure what it was but he liked it. A will to fight, the ability to sacrifice, to walk off pain, and_that_. Whatever _that_ was. Skipper wanted the boy on his team. Hell, they'd be making money like corrupt Mayors.

Meanwhile, Rico sat as far away from the boy as he could. He eyed the boy from a corner at the back seat. What he saw was not very manly. But either way, his mind was away from them. He had better things to think about than the little Brit. Although, he did manage to grasp his attention when he spoke again.

"Would you _at least_ give me an answer?" He poked his head up to the front seat to look at Skipper. The older man only smiled without looking at him.

"I mean, even if it's an '_I'm not going to tell you_', but it's plain rude to leave me waiting like this!"

There still wasn't an answer and Louie was beginning to get anxious. Rico chuckled at how his right heel rapidly. _Now _this_ would be entertaining_.  
Kowalski shifted his eyes from the road over to Skipper and back. He knew he was meant to keep his eyes where he was driving, but he wanted to look at his commander's reactions.

"Please_, Sir, _just speak to me!" Louie begged.

"Hey Kowalski!" The alluded jumped to his name. "He called me _Sir_, did you hear that?" The nineteen years old sightedloudly and sat back at his place, pouting like a toddler. Rico grinned, revealing a diamond false tooth. Louie's eyebrows rose. _He hadn't noticed that..._

Skipper smiled, pleased with himself. His face light in amusement. He lifted half of his body from the seat, and swirled his torso in order to be able to follow the kid's tantrum. He hadn't expected what he found.  
_It wasn't humanly possible for anyone to be that cute._  
Round eyes like puppy's. His hair falling in locks like a cartoon character, in a way so perfectly natural it almost looked arranged. The blue in his eyes looked like the sky, so perfect, so impartial to the sadness reflecting from the rest of his features. His mouth curled down, with his lower lip hanging slightly, still didn't manage to form a single imperfection on his creamy smooth skin. Even at his age, the boy didn't seam to have ever grown a beard to screw the perfect smoothness of his face. He had his jaw tight and precisely fitting to his bones. But everything only took him back to his eyes. Those ponds, as they seamed to be able hold a eternity of emotion. The instant prolonged itself for whatever infinity it took Skipper to breath in all his features. Maybe that was what he saw when he picked him out of the crowd. No, it wasn't right.

The grown man's heart skipped a beat and left his mouth hanging open. He had to blink a few times in order for his mind to process correctly. He almost wished he could slap himself. What the fuck was he thinking? No wait, he wasn't.  
He frowned for himself, staring down at the seat rather then the little son of a bitch seating over it.  
But then the desperate thing just had to call for more attention.

Wit a shy small voice, just barely audible Louie spoke what was his most sincere fear.  
"_Will I ever get my life back?_"

The van's speed noticeably slowed. Kowalski's eyebrows rose. Not that one question. Rico looked away. Only Skipper held his sight, frowning. It happened a minute of silence, the leader slipped back to the front seat and stared at the road ahead. Kowalski's feet pushed it's strength back to the pedal.  
That moment Louie, for the very fist time, in his time as a hostage, felt alone. The air became cold. There was no adrenaline, no need to scape, no thrill. Not a feeling of hope or consolation. Only quiet.

"_No_." Skipper's voice sliced through ice. And it was the last thing he said until the car pulled away from the road, in order to enter the villain's 'H.Q.s'.

The car took a turn and drove through a path of dirt. They travelled a while through the forest before the path became visually wider and extended to a clearing. Sitting on said clearing, a large two stories high house imposed it's figure from the forest.  
After a few steps, a first board of pine wood stood in front of the main entrance. Two columns held the second story that worked as a celling to the porch. There where several windows around in the walls, all covered in dark grey folds. It was all painted on different shades of grey and green on the outside. No balconies, nor any other anomalies stood on the simple surface of the house. It looked like a building that belonged on the middle of a city, instead of being at the middle of a forest. Only the odd choice of colors could disrupt the feeling of civilization that the place gave, within the forest.

The van parked a close to the house. The former criminals stepped out, but Louie remained on his seat, whimpering. Rico left the door in the back open, yet still, the boy curled himself into a ball on his seat, refusing to leave the safety of the car.

The leader made a disgusted expression. Both his men looked away, knowingly. Then he gave a tired groan before stepping up to the back of the car and walking over to the young man. He wrapped his arms around his figure and pulled. To his surprise, the kid had also wrapped his arms around the seat they had adapted to the back of the van, and held tight enough to be able to stop him. He tried twice more before he was able to beat Private's strength and pull him away, only to meet his face. He mentally cursed himself, he was crying.  
Then, the older man reacted by his first instinct and slapped the younger one straight through the face. He gave a cold stare, even as Private's lower lip was trembling. "Man up." He commanded. Yet, once more to his dismay, the tears multiplied on the boy's heavenly blue eyes.

Skipper looked away. _Damn it_, he hated it when they cried.  
He mumbled something while avoiding to look at him. He would have usually shoot him, but this was Private he was dealing with. He couldn't just shoot his Private, what kind of Skipper would that make him? He sighted. He just couldn't deal with him. In a defensive maneuver his hands flew up to the heigh of his head, and he turned his back to , he screamed the magic word that would most usually fix his problems, although most of the time also started them.

"Kowalski!" He screamed. The scientist sighted. He had hoped he wasn't called up for this one. It was Skipper who recruited him on the first place! Why did he have to deal with him either way?He figured there was not much point arguing, and walked over to the van.

He found him there, still hugging the seat on a fetal position. Passing a hand through his neatly brushed pitch black hair, the tallest figure approached the boy. He cleared his throat, working a way around the situation. He wasn't too good on feelings. That flaw had costed him his single Highschool girlfriend. No, he told himself, pushing the thought away, it's not the time. He was trying to find what to say when luck smiled down his way, and the boy spoke first.

"What do you _want_ from me?" Louie mourned.

"I thought you understood Skipper wanted you on the team, with us." He spoke slowly, fighting the need to elaborate further.

"But what if I don't _want_ to be on the team? I want to go _back to my life_!" The younger boy cried. Kowalski wasn't sure how to answer. Instead he chose to focus on a different matter.

"Skipper isn't as bad when you get to know him. You'll see you'll eventually _like_ him!"

"That's a stupid answer. I know I wont." The word _stupid_ got to Kowalski. He was a master mind! For God's sake! Nothing he did or said was ever stupid. The facts he knew about the Stockholm Syndrome bubbled in his head, but something stopped his science rush. Louie sighted.

"Whatever. Either way, I don't have much to go back to." The scientist was amused by the sudden bitterness in his voice. "My uncle probably _already_ arranged my funeral. But I don't care. It's better that way. Just to imagine how disappointed mother would be if she found out I let myself be _kidnapped_ and_ forced_ into joining a gang of _psychotic criminals_!" He cried more to himself then Kowalski. Said man couldn't have expected the sudden outburst of words that came out of Louie's mouth. He just carried on ranting like he'd never shed a tear. He could even say he was afraid of how violent the kid's arm gestures where becoming as he spoke about the ship he took over from England, the rotten food they served, and all to end up in a pit alongside smugglers.

Kowalski's eyes followed the kids arms. The way they sliced through the air as the boy ranted. Then he eyes worriedly the portfolio where he kept his medical supplies, which was seating dangerously close to the kid, on the other side of the back seat. He though he had told Rico to care for that briefcase! It was only matter of time before chaos echoed. With a swing of his arm, Louie accidentally dropped the portfolio to the floor. Kowalski, knowing it's content, took his hand straight up and pinched his nose, cursing he hand't grabbed the thing before it fell. But Louie wasn't as smart.

"What's that smell?" Where the last words he spoke before his head hit the floor alongside his body, peacefully unconscious.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Breaking the line**

Still pinching his nose and holding his breath, Kowalski grabbed Louie by his armpit and pulled him out of the van. He let the boy's body hit the undergrowth lifelessly flat. He dragged the body away from the car, until he was at least four feet clear.

He took a breath, reading himself, and then ran back to the van covering both his nose and his mouth with a single hand and smacked the back door shut with a lot more strength then the necessary. He assured to be far enough away from the spilled chloroform before he breathed again.

He stared down at Louie. His heart pounded, and the scientific facts of the previous event stormed through his mind. His eyes analysed his figure while hoping he hadn't smelled too much of the liquid.

His body was half turned, light skin stained with mud. It was a pitiful sight, him laying there. Features screwed by the dirt. A chill ran through his nervous system, an instinct, that pushed him to protect the boy.

He picked him up, bridal style and stared into his face. Lashes clasped together, nose perked up and stained with mud, and lips. _Sweet mercy!_ Those lips. The precise shade of pink outlined with the perfect curve. The thoughts on his mind slowly evacuating to further appreciate the sight.

He never realised when precisely had his hand rose to remove the mud from Louie's face.

For the first time in years, inside his mind, there was quiet.

He was blessed with silence as he breathed the image of the young angelic creature in his arms, as his mind wasn't able to produce a second word after _beautiful_.

Without a record of the time, Kowalski stared into the boy, acknowledging his features. A faint blush spreading through his flesh, until a voice disturbed his bliss. Skipper screamed for him to get done with whatever was taking him so long.

Sitting on a wooden chair at the lounge he amused himself by throwing and catching his razor up in the air, making it spin before it fell back into his palm. Though Skipper had no idea that he was in fact interrupting Kowalski's process of infatuation. His mind was more one Kowalski doing some _scinecy_ tests about the kid's eye color. He chuckled at the thought, listening at the wooden creak under heavy footsteps. He stopped playing with his pocket knife, resting it back into his pocket.  
His smiled widened when he saw his right hand walk in with a sleeping Private on his arms.

His smiled widened when he saw his right hand walk in with a sleeping Private on his arms.

"Great job Kowalski," He congratulated. "I'm glad your science _finally_ became useful in a none-life-threatening way."

Kowalski only looked away, embarrassed by his own mind. The scientist tried to assure his eyes where away from either the boy or his Captain as he obeyed Skipper numbly. He tried his best to keep his though away from the boy, even as he tied him to a chair in their basement, until his leader made a direct order that took him off guard.

"_Now Kiss him_." Skipper instructed. Kowalski jolted away from Louie and stared back into Skipper. A bright red blush covering his cheeks.

"What?" Kowalski stuttered nervously. He was relived when his commander started laughing.

"I'm sorry Kowalski! It's just you seamed so hopelessly obedient this noon I couldn't help myself!" He laughed. The taller man tried to laugh with him, folding his eyebrows while mentally insulting himself.

"I know you're not a _fucking_ homo. None of my men are, and I pride myself with that. Not like on the_ Naval_..." Skipper continued to ramble, but Kowalski, once more, wasn't listening. It was until a second order caught his attention.

"Now wake him." Skipper demanded.

Kowalski found himself once more outran by his own brain. His lower lip quivered looking for an answer other then what he was sure would burst out any second.

"I can't." He said. A hand slapped up to his face. Took him a second to realise it had been his own.

"What do you mean you can't?" Skipper cried raising his voice furiously. His arms flew up to the air.

"It was your darned science that_ K.O.'ed_ him! Now use it to wake him!"

Kowalski drew his hands back defensively.

"_I can't_." He begged. Facts about chloroform's strength blurting out of his lips. At least if he outsmarted Skipper he'd have a weapon against his fury.

Skipper just stared unamused until his comrade gave up speaking. His eyes narrowed with boredom. He parted his lips with a witty remark at the tip of his tongue, but another voice came first.

"_K'walski?_" Louie said, and his heart stopped.

Both men turned their attention to the small figure tied to the chair. He opened his eyes slowly, flashing his eyelashes and giving them a glint of baby blue eyes. Kowalski was so lost by himself he couldn't have noticed his compadré gaping at the boy for as long as he did. It was eventually Private who had to break the silence.

The room was dark almost entirely. He couldn't see but black and a chattering red light on the back of the ghostlike faces he believed to recognize as his captors. Even when his eyes sharpened he wasn't still quiet aware of anything. He tried to render his surroundings, but his spinning head was no help to that matter. Though he was quiet sure there must have been a fireplace somewhere. The most he could make out, besides the marbleplace, was a triangular shaped lamp hanging half a meter away from him in the cealing. He did his best to stop it from moving, but his eyes and brains refused to comply to that matter. Still, he was also able to place two figures before him, who, like shadows, blurred in motion.

"Am I awake yet?" He asked. He passed strength through his arm, trying to get a fist up to his eyes but found it impossible. Looking down he found that he had once more woken in ties. His curse broke Skipper and Kowalski out of their stupor.

The taller man coughed into his fist. Stretching his back to his full heigh as a defence mechanism from the boy's cuteness.

Skipper, by his side, showed no reaction but the lifting of his bottom eyelid on one eye. He continued to stare into the boy with his strange new stance.

Louie slowly became uncomfortable by this. Lingering on whether he should or shouldn't ask about it.

To say the truth Kowalski was also beginning to worry by Skipper's pause in action. The air became dense, and Louie felt like he could be eaten alive by his own nerves. His mouth was half open and his throat was beginning a word when suddenly a hand shook him, almost dropping the chair. Said hand grabbed the back of the chair pushing him back slightly and then pulling him back, just before a voice beamed.

"What's your name!" It was a command. Not a question.

Louie shaped an L with his tongue. But his lips stuttered. He stared at the man frightened. What had he kept calling him?

"I said 'What's you name'!" Skipper screamed again. Louie shrieked, his mouth responding sooner then his mouth.

"My name is_ Prippah_!" He cried. But reading his mistake in Skipper's eye he corrected. "I mean _Pribat_...I mean _Private_!" He ducked his neck into his shoulders closing his eyes and praying he had got it right. Skipper smirked, drawing his face a few inches further from the boy. There was a big future to that kid in this or any other profession; he knew how to please people, even if he was a bit to naïve. He wanted to push that. Then he added in a mocking tone.

"And you age?" Louie...no, Private opened his mouth again, eyes wide and eyebrows folding up. Skipper shook his head slowly, his smirk never leaving his face. The boy sighted.

"Not nineteen I guess."

"Correct." Skipper said. He was glad when people gave him what he wanted. No doubt he'd keep the boy around for a long while. "And when I ask you that again you will answer me 'Private'."

"Private? Wasn't that my name or something?" The boy was positively confused.

"Are you questioning me, soldier?" The older man regained his original closeness to Private, who did his best effort to elude this by pushing his head further back into the chair.

"No! No, of course not Sir." Yet he couldn't push back his gallantry.

Skipper muttered a good under his breath, before looking back at his Private.

"Now Private, tell me," He inquired in a seemingly kind voice. "Why are you here."

He did his best not to scream "because you kidnapped me!" and instead chose his answer more wisely, while in silence. He though about the things that his interrogator had told him. He had mentioned His Team every so often. And they had set him under some sort of trial.

"Because," He said, still meditating over his answer. "I_ wan_t" He forced that one word out and the rest came easier, like some sort of sarcasm or mockery Skipper wasn't able to identify. "To be part of you Team."

It sounded almost like a question, but Skipper took it as the best he could get.

"Correct, soldier."

Louie seize the current coolness to lend a stare up to the awkward scientist. Kowalski had kept himself at bay from the interrogation, hoping not to get lost on the boy's face again. It was wrong and sick to feel that way about another man. And may God spare him and strike him dead on the spot if Skipper was ever to find out about it. Lost in his thoughts as he often was, then, he became immune to the boy's desperate attempts to send a telepathic message to him.

Skipper followed Private's eyes up to Kowalski. Anger pinched his stomach, but his mind didn't reason the feeling. So he spoke, fighting for the younger man's attention. Clapping for a further emphasis to his voice.

"Alright!" Private's eyes snapped back to him. He smiled. "Now that that's settled, I'm need to make _sure_ that you _learned_ all that.!"

Kowalski's eyebrows perked up, and his eyes dashed in their direction, just in time to see Skipper launch forward and cut the ropes that tied Louie with his pocket knife. He hadn't noticed when he took it out, but the sudden outburst had scared him. Though only for the little boy's safety.

Private screamed and his body longed to reach closer. He stopped himself, before Skipper noticed anything.

The knife buried itself into the wooden chair, less then an inch besides Louie's thigh. The boy breathed hardly, looking down at the blade, which Skipper's hand had long left. His cheeks had brightened with the rush. He had a cut streaming down from beneath his shoulder to his elbow, warming up and staining his clothes.

"_You're crazy_." Private breathed. Skipper, given his commentary, chose to pull him up to his feet from his wounded arm.

The older man pulled him away from the chair, and the he was able to confirm his suspicions about the fireplace. It was flat, square, and made out of white marble, with a little fire glimmering through. There was nothing sitting above the marble. But there was, besides it, the typical basket of long forks used to poke and shove around the insides of the fireplace.  
Yet it wasn't until Skipper forcefully span him around that he noticed the rest of the room. It extended itself for at least 15 meters forth and four to each of his sides. It was only illuminated by, besides the orange light from the fire, a long row of cone shaped lamps, hanging limply from the celling. He was surprised to see that most of the room was empty. He searched his surroundings for anything that could predict his fate.

Color drained from his face when he found it.

A two legged table, held in place by the hands of the muscular redhead, strap belts attached to it, for a purpose simple enough to be guesses. Behind it, he could barely shape what looked like a bathtub. When he found himself closer, he dreaded to confirm it was in fact a bathtub, filled with water and ice cubes that looked unfriendly cold to him.  
Yet his attention was drawn back to the table when he was harshly pushed against it, falling face forth into the wooden plank, and breaking the balance it had. Gravity took the chance to pull him back into the red carpet covering the floor. He rested there for a small fragment of a second until strong hands pulled him back up to the table and flipped him until he was facing his aggressor.  
With a dead spirit, he laid on the table, not applying any resistance to the man strapping his limbs.

His head swayed from side to side, unsure of how to react.

"Can..." He asked. "Can you at least tell me what you're planning this time?".

Skipper laughed, letting his body drop in the table at Louie's left. The boy turned his head away, in attempt to avoid his breath.

"Do you like games Private?" He smiled. Louie nodded, still looking away.

"Well this is very much like Simon says, only that instead of Simon, when I call you Private you will answer whatever I ask you. But if I call you that dull little nickname of yours Loo-ee, you don't even blink." He said, pushing himself back up.

"So are you ready, Louie?" Skipper smiled.

"Yes Sir!" Louie jumped.

The older man shook his head, doing his best to show how much he pitied the boy.  
"I really thought you'd have a better start, kid." He said. Then he gestured the red head.

He hadn't a chance to breath before he was violently sunk down into the bathtub, from his head down to his shoulders. Even though the icecubes dodged him as he collided with the water, he felt as if he were hitting directly to the artic floor. The places where the water and the air met burned in the skin of his neck. The water pinched his face. His muscles arched in pain, his limbs twisting, trying to free himself from the straps. He couldn't breath. Water slid into his nostrills, burning like acid. He struggled his best, but in his efforts he only found himself coughing out the remaining air in his lungs. After much blinking his eyelashes seamed to be on fire, burning into his eyes.  
His whole self stung, feeling hopeless. As if he weren't ever going to get out. The lack of oxigen in his lungs took effect digging a hole on chest, and feeling his features numb to the cold he slowly stopped moving.

Skipper and the others watched this display of agony apathetically. The four of them had learned to ignore the pinch of guilt that came whenever they hurt someone.

Still, as the muffled screams and desperate banging of limbs became the only audible feeling, the two subordinates felt a de-meassured need for their leader to make an order.  
The seconds felt like ages equally to the four of them.  
Almost a minute went by, and the silence had stopped the boy's strength.

Then Skipper nodded and Rico was grateful to pull the table back up and away from the water.

Louie coughed with a sore throat. His lips where trembling blue and the muscles on his face and neck stung and contracted. All of his limbs tried to pull together, his fingers twitched and his toes rose, his shoulders lifted to the heigh of his chin and there was a sudden emptiness on his stomach. And yet he was unnaturally still, giving away only to short spasmic movements. Everything felt warmer, but not in a comfortable way. It was as if the air had somehow become solid and pressed onto Louie like blankets trying to suffocate him. Water still dripped from his nose and hair, like magma sliding down his face. His brain also hurt. Like a strong migrain keeping him from focusing. It felt as if all of his wounds and bruises were all made again, all at once.  
Skipper showed no sings of guilt whatsoever.

"How was the water, _Loo_?" He sneered. The boy gave no answer. Skipper smiled. "Good." He commented. "Now Private, could you please tell me what your age is?"  
There was still no answer.

Skipper had never been a patient man.

After receiving a nod from his leader, Rico began to teasingly lower the table closer to the tube. Feeling his body slip closer to the water Private rose to a state of panic. He's memory of the water so vivid he felt like a slow motion repetition of the first dip. His body instinctively tensed, all of his muscles stinging, and his neck contracting, leaving his face looking directly to the tube. Adrenaline pumped into his brain, terrified.

"Private!" The boy screamed. "It's Private!". He began to wriggle between the bonds, fear overtaking his conscience. His throat was aching from the water he swallowed.

The gang leader smiled, signaling again for Rico to draw the table back up. Private was still shivering when he moved closer for his next question.

"So Private, where do you come from?" His breath stunk.

"London." He was quick to answer. "I arrived here last Tuesday"

"And how you liking NY so far, Louie?" With faked kindness he smiled down at the brunette, nodding. The boy began to mimic his motion, but as Skipper began to shake his head, giving a sinister glint to his smile, he was struck with realization and tightened his neck, stopping his head in place with a despair-struck expression. Everything stung again. He needed out.

"Too bad, young Private." The words fainted away as he once again felt his head sink into the icy bathtub.

* * *

When they had first strapped him he had been sufficiently resigned to avoid giving resistance.  
When they took of the strap he wouldn't stop shivering with strong spasms. As soon as he was released he fell straight to the floor, shoulder first, almost lifelessly. Even so it was hard to hold him still. They knew they shouldn't feel guilt, but the boy was so helpless and needing that to the three of them, the prime priority was fixing the damage. Of course their physical efforts where low to null. None of them dared show their 'weakness'.  
But it was in their eyes, Kowalski realized, that he could tell his comrades felt as sorry as he did.

"What are we going to do with him, Skipper?" He asked. Skipper didn't make eye contact when he answered.

"We mark him, then we take him down to The Zoo, where he can get better." Kowalski nodded, hoping for the kid to be actually able to get better.

Rico was in charge of most physical tasks, given his body mass and attitude. Tasks which included carrying the closely dead boy to the small room adapted at a corner of the long basement, reserved to the process of 'marking', and tying him down again, to a second table, adding a few smaller bonds meant strictly to restricting all and any possible movements of the boy's left hand, which was to be placed under a leak.

Privat mumbled a few words, which Rico wasn't able to make sense of. He pitied the boy, knowingly, but left nonetheless without a second glance.

The young man was left alone, with his pain. He couldn't do more then lie down, holding his left arm out. It took him a while to realize there was a drip, over his heavy breathing and given his current state of agony, the little drop was the least of his worries.

He waited for his body to numb, closely reaching a relaxed state before his mind registered the water pressing onto his skin every few seconds.

There was a second leak, somewhere around the room that echoed when it reached the floor. Less then a second after the first drop was heard he would feel a ever so slightly pressure on his open palm, always hitting the same spot. When his breathing easied that drop became the only other sound to his heartbeat, drumming in his head. Falling and bouncing like waves in the walls.

The first hour was the easiest one. He only had but to ignore the feeling on his palm. But as the pain on the rest of his body began to slowly dissolve he couldn't but listen to the water falling over a place he couldn't identify. _One. Two. Three. Four._ And then the second drop would hit his palm and sting so very slightly.

An endless time had gone by and his hand was beginning to ache. He couldn't help but register the pattern in which the first leak would echo and then the second would hit him.  
The only sound for hours were the echoing drips of water. He hated water now. He couldn't help but count the seconds between every drop and listen to them start again._ And again. And again. One. Two. Three. Four. Sting. One. Two..._ It driving him crazy. It made his head spin in cycles. _Three. Four._ He tried to speak to cover the sound. To sing, to pray, to hear anything but the damned dripping of the leak. _Over and over again_. But those unarmed leaks overpowered his strength of will, his voice his eveything. In their darned tapst they fell. _Sting. One. Two. _

Hoping to be heard over the mighty dripping of water, he begged his captors. _Three. Four._ He promised to do whatever they wanted him to. He cried, ripping his voice out of a numb chest._ Sting._ He felt he would die there. Waiting for an answer. _One. Two._ He could only hear the water's echo. _Echo. Echo. Again. Again. Again._  
As time went by and he became more and more sick of the sound of the seconds, the water drop hitting his hand began to feel like razors. He itched but his body was strapped in a way he couldn't aid his own hand. _Three._ The water sounded like mountains falling. _Four. Sting._ His head deorganized. _One. _It was as if all of his near experiences-_Two_-had torn his ability-_Three_-to concentrate. _Four._ He needed a scape, and there just wasn't one. _Sting._ He felt hopeless, tears rolling through his cheeks, knowing there was no way out. _One. Two._ And the water kept falling. Echoing. Counting.  
_Three. Four. Sting. One. Two. Three._ Every time hurting dipper. Digging deeper into his skin and nerves. _Four. Sting. One. Again. And Again. And Again._

First he felt desperate. He needed to get out. _One._ He screamed to his sore throat._ Two._ He forced out strength. _Three._ But with a lack of results his anger shifted into agony._ Four. Sting._ He poured tears. _One. Two. Three._ Against his will, he was still counting. He cried bitterly, trying and failing to ridd himself of this torture. He screamed for them to kill him. _Four._ To do whatever they must, but to let him out of there. _Sting. One._ The water felt now like arrows, tearing his flesh. _Two. Three._ And the bounsing soung of the leak shaped tsunamis and shadows overpowering every other sound. _Four. Sting. One._ His head stung badly, and his eyes burned with tears. Hopeless he laid there, counting.  
It was maddening.

* * *

There was light again, a eternity later. A perfect rectangle deformed by the shadow of a man. His eyes adapted to see Skipper smiling another fake grin. He began to undo the stripes holding the boy, starting by his left hand. The boy retracted his hand into his chest as soon as he found himself able.  
"So," Skipper said, helping the younger man up to a sitting possition. "How was the night, _Louie_?" He asked.

_Private_ didn't answer.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Into the Zoo**

His head span, probably due to the motion sickness. The forest had long stopped showing on the front windows. It ached, it _still_ ached would be the correct notion. Every second gone through from last night the pain had grown into a more feverish and suffocating sensation.

"Where are we going?" He asked, tedious. He wasn't sure whether they were still moving or not, but the question had burned in his tongue ever since he spotted notion.

It was barely morning, and he had woken with a high fever, and maybe even a pneumonia, that Kowalski had been trying to deal with from that moment forth. Turns out the man was able to decipher how an ultracentrifuge could be used as a weapon, and still managed to suck as a nurse. His excuse was there was yet no known cure for a common cold. Private knew he hadn't a common cold. Still he tagged along, unwilling to go through a second torture session.

The lights from the sun were too bright for him.

"To see Mama B." Kowalski said, reassuringly, before adding in an almost inaudible mutter, "She'll know what to do with you". The scientist held his head in place.

He also seamed flustered, but Private couldn't make anything out of it. Private thought he must look flustered himself, as his own cheeks felt sunburned.

The boy laid with his legs curled up in a ball in the back seat of the Van, his head resting on Kowalski's lap. He was too tired as to sit properly, and his human-pillow had thought it better to let him be.

The anatomy of a Ford model A Van was meant to have at most three passengers and a inanimate load, but it had not been enough for Skipper a while after they stole it. He found it uncomfortable for the tree of them to stuff at the front, while the money had so much space on the back for itself.

Therefore he had gotten Kowalski to install a second seat at the back. It had only taken a second van, loosening a few screws, and leaving his right hand do his mechanical magic. In four days the van had been adapted to his necessities.

As for the present, Private laid over Kowalski on the back seat, while Rico drove through the streets of N.Y. The boy kept his head looking at the front seat, as one of Kowalski's hands rested over his ear, providing a small comfort for him.

"Who's Mama B.?" Private asked. His voice was childishly high, as was his experience.

"Ah!" Sighted Skipper, turning around from the front seat with a wide smile across his face. "Mrs. B. is only the most—if not the only— indispensable woman of all existence." Rico grunted in agreement.

Private made a soft noise as a signal of attention he wasn't paying. He then squirmed on his seat and turned his body 180° degrees, burring himself deeper into the seat.

Kowalski blushed hardly, not daring to breath.

Skipper's eyebrows rose.

"Is something wrong Kowalski?" He didn't answer, hoping it would suffice to spread his lips into a grimace.

"Private!" The leader scolded.

"What." The boy spoke against the scientist's groin.

"As lovely as it is to have you chatting with another person's dick, I think Kowalski doesn't like you that much."

Private was only able to hear halve of that statement over his own coughing. Kowalski, then, being unable to stand any longer pulled him away and prayed to science he wouldn't get stiff from all the action happening around him. But then his attention drifted to the young boy as his coughs became more and more violent. He could hear Skipper barking on the back of his head, but his conscious mind was storming for ways to help Private. Being the first sensible though that came to hear, the scientist limited himself to smacking his comrade's back with excessive strength until the fit had passed, all the while trying to speak relieving words into the young man's ears, attempt which would have resulted in scaring Private to Hell with all the medical terms of risks he could, but shouldn't be facing, had he only been able to hear them.

Private looked pale and a small trail of blood showed on his lower lip.

There was that guilt again. –_Push it back, push it back_— He held the boy in a hug. Even Skipper had stopped talking, with his brows furrowed.  
The team's leader shifted back to face the road and with a monotone voice called for Rico to drive faster. He didn't like to face vulnerability in his own team. He refused to acknowledge it was his own fault. He listened to Kowalski smoothing his Private's back while giving out encouraging words, this time not resulting as catastrophic as the last. He wasn't the one to do that sort of thing, he thought, staring at the figures blur away on the streets. Mrs. B. better be where he thought she was, or the kid could probably wave goodbye to his life for the second time.

Private's body felt limp over Kowalski. The scientist feared the worst, feeling the boy's vitals slow down. He wanted to push back a though. He didn't realize when he spoke it.

"He's not going to—"

"No." Skipper interrupted. After that single word the rest went quiet.

Kowalski eyed the young man resting over him, and felt his own breathing stop every time that Private exhaled until he inhaled again.

It was a very long drive.

The Zoo was a little known refuge in NY from the prohibition. But it was otherwise known to be a café with live music as entertainment.  
Of course to the drunk it wasn't a bother that the music was loud and the singer was terrible. They could get a taste of alcohol, and it wasn't a time to be picky about such.

The owner's name was Julien, a merry man who was rumored came from a colony in Africa. Not too many customers believed on that theory, it was more reworded that he consumed such quantity of exotic substances he had come to believe all that nonsense himself.

To Skipper he didn't mean enough to indulge deeper into the man's past. He merely mattered in his chart as anything different then a fool, disregarding how much both men interacted.

This interaction, of course, was entirely obliged.

The suited team busted into The Zoo by the front door; Skipper on lead, marching forward, while Kowalski and Rico followed close behind, the later carrying the Private on his arms. Only a few sights were dedicated down to the quartet, but a few paces were heard besides their own.

The main hall of the building blurred in shades from sand to reds and browns. Tables scattered, with drunk scattered among those. There was a stage where a single woman stood performing what seemed to be a mockery of music, as her voice was not able to reach the high tune necessary for the song and often hit the notes out of key.  
The ambient was far from appealing, yet the scent of alcohol and prohibition immunized the clients to the horrid conditions of the establishment. Not that there was dirt or rubbish piling up. The place was fairly hygienic, once you learned to ignore the multiple bottles and glasses previously filled with adulterated drinks. It was that feeling of danger and drowned sorrows, as only the depressed and the dangerous came to drink at a place as The Zoo. Also the stink that threateningly sneaked out of the restrooms, carrying the vomit and other residues of drunken men.

The Zoo also happened to be a cesspool for criminals. Which happened to be the main reason Skipper and his team were there for the first time. Business they liked to call it. And as illegitimate as said business was, a deal was a deal, it still counted as one.

This time they were more on a personal visit that any other sort.

On the back, of the establishment, past Maurice's counter, there were two thin doors. One leading to Julien's manager office, and the second being the gang's target.

Skipper tried to push open the door, but it had only a few inches away from the frame it was violently pushed back closed. A raspy voice boomed.

"_Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock_?"

The man sighed, shooting a pleading glare to his compadrés. The two taller men shrugged and Skipper obliged. He raised a hand and knocked on the door twice. The same voice called again, this time in a sweeter tone.

"_Whose_ there?"

"Is just me, Skipper, and the boys here too."

It didn't happen a beat before the door was pulled open and corpulent copper skinned woman stormed out to set her arms around Skipper.

"Oh you fools. Whatever mess brings you back to me this time?" Neither of them had to answer before she spotted the boy lying limply on Rico's arms. She gasped and the sweetness was drained from her.

"_You degenerated bastards_!" She cried, pushing past Skipper and snatching the boy out of Rico's grip. As quick as she had acted she turned away from the three men and walked back in with her arms wrapped around Private. She mouthed sympathy words, as one does to a pet.  
The three older men were close to walk back into the room with her until she slammed the door shut in their faces. They understood her message.

The woman cradled Private down to a bed. He coughed a little bit, to which her eyebrows rose. She glided through the room and selected a few things from a shelf on the other side of the sand colored room, so that the boy wouldn't see the disbelief in her expression.

She placed a pot of water to boil and until then she turned her head back to Private.

"Whatever did they do to you, you little thing?" Private didn't answer, but his left hand shivered unwillingly. She grasped it and examined the newly shaped scar in his palm. She didn't want him to see her eyes roll.

"It'll stop hurting in a day or two. You'll live, sweetie."

"With those maniacs, I sure hope so, ma'am." The young man chirped, to which the woman's cheeks tinted dark red.

Mama B, if anything, had the face of a mother. Her dark chocolate skin falling in flaps over her round shapes, with dark lined eyes that matched her skin, thick dark lips, an dark and curled hair. Private's best guess was that she was one of the freedmen, but it didn't strange him either to find various mysterious, and probably pagan, artifacts on her shelf. The only thing normal seamed to be a jar of water, and the pot that wouldn't seem witch-craft like if it weren't set over the fire in the tremendous chimney on the further corner of the room.

The woman tended the boiling water, and in what Private registered as a Voodoo act, crumbled strange roots into it. He grimaced when she approached him with the resulting greenish brewage.

"What?" She asked in her own funny accent. "You never saw a grape stalk tea before? I though you British liked tea…"

Private blushed, and his eyes popped open with astonishment. Mama B could only find his expression adorable.

"Sorry, ma'am! Oh—O—Of course it's tea…" The woman's laughter bounced in the walls, filling the little boy with warmth. _At least she can tell my accent right_, he though taking a sip from his tea.

A moment happened, as they share their mutual smiles, in caring silence. The woman liked the boy. He reminded her of her own boy, back in Louisiana. Not in the looks, of course, but the respectfulness and sweetness. At least the way he was when he was that age. What was the kid anyway? Fourteen? Sixteen maybe?

Then eventually, the moment was interrupted by a shy knock on the door. Mama B opened it to show Kowalski standing on the other side.

From Private's point of view he could only distinguish a quarter of the man's worried face, and halve-guess that he was fisting both hands on his tie; and cringe, as the scientist stuttered whether he was going to live or not.  
Then he heard Mama B blurt out another beam of laughter.

"Oh, this boy's just a bunch of drama!" She cried. Private frowned and reddened. "The boy does have one Hell of a cold, but nothing more."

The irony made him wish he had died back when he was locked in that cellar of a room.

"B-but… His throat was bleeding…" Kowalski tried to reason the cause of his worries.

"It's easier to believe it was his lip with that ol' bruise he has." She snapped back. "What in the world was Skippeh _thinking_ this time?"

Kowalski's face lightened, but he eluded her question. "Oh." He smiled. "Very well, then. Is he coming out?" The woman turned to look at the despaired little boy. "Only when he's finished his tea

She, not having let his evasion go unnoticed, gave the man a reproaching and slammed the door shut.

Kowalski jolted as the door slammed, but shrugging it off he walked back to the table where Skipper and Rico plaid a game of bullshit with a couple of strangers. He had refrained from the game in order to help his former comrades cheat.

He sat a table a way and signaled the former. He caught a glimpse of Skipper's blue eyes just before the former excused himself from the table and they casually walked together to the bar.

A grey haired man greeted them with a disinterested grunt. Kowalski nodded back, but Skipper went straight to business.

"How's my Private?" He asked.

"Fine" Kowalski said. "He'll come out in a minute or two." The shorter man nodded. He was set, walking away, when a woman stood in his way.

She only reached about his shoulders, even wearing heels. Skipper couldn't feel amused by her scold, with her amber eyes staring up at him and her brunette hair hanging in a ridiculous fashion, just above her shoulders.

"Agatha." He mentioned casually.

"Skipper!" She cried. "Whose this Agatha you talking of?"

His eyebrows rose. "Marie?"

She rolled her eyes. "At least you got the first part right." She muttered not looking back to him.

Skipper struggled, rolling the "Ma" syllable on his tongue. Every second seamed to make the girl madder.

"It's Marta!" She screamed. "You never came lookin' for me!"

Skipper sighted heavily, but a smirk grew inevitably through his features.

"If I pay for _it_, it's just so I don't have to."

"_You didn't pay me a cent!"_ Miss Marta screamed stomping her heel dangerously close to Skipper's toes.

The man smiled like a child, from ear to ear, eagerly looking for a dime on his pocket. "My fault." He said trusting her the coin. She gapped for a minute, watching him walk back to his original table.

His name resounded on the establishment louder yet then the music. That's how people usually found out he was there. After the scream, shriek, scold, or demand, the man's laughter would be heard, and most clients would turn their heads to the table two tables away from the left corner of the room, away from the stage.

That was the first thing Private heard as he walked out of Mama B's private dorm, at the opposite side of the room. His eyes easily located the young woman storming out the front door, and the owner of the laughter roaring over the music.  
The boy gulped, acknowledging it was better not to get back to the team just yet. He walked instead towards the bar, sitting in a stool. A chubby man greeted him with a chuckle, while feeling the order of some drunk who sat somewhere by the counter. His white beard extending through his chin, contrasting with his dark complexion.

"You that poor soul Skipper dragged in earlier?" He asked lightly. Private gave a small nod and a smile as an answer. "Then you ought to need this." The bartender said, sliding a glass of yellow cold beer towards the boy. He shook his head.

"I shouldn't—" He began.

"C'me on boy. What could happen." Maurice proposed on the other side of the bar. Private shrugged and glugged down the bitter liquid.  
Just as he was putting down the glass a feminine figure sat on the stool besides him.

"As always," She commented, leaning a little bit into the table. Brown straight hair falling like water around her figure, reaching down to her middle back. Her small and round nose perking across from the layers of brown, followed by her long curled lashes.

He choked.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: The Only Thing a Woman Can Mean**

"God!" The brunette called, slapping the young man's back. Maurice seemed a little more worried about his counter than he was for the boy. The cups of the other men were clinging against the wood, and the men themselves complained.  
The fits gradually stopped, leaving behind a breathless boy, an astonished girl, and an annoyed crowd of drunks.

"Are you alright?" The girl asked calmly, trying to grasp a look of the boy's eyes. But just before, she met his smile.

He wanted to drop a line like he had done to that nurse what's-her-name, but he just kept smiling. He watched as her eyebrows rose in a slightly disgusted expression.

In fact, she was freaking out a little bit. She tried her best to force a smile, and a little noise from her throat as she glanced away from the awkward situation.

Private's brain was in frenzy. What was he supposed to say? Or do? His breathing became more agitated, unable to take his eyes away from her.  
She was one darned sight to be staring at! He found himself unable to reason. Unable was the best word to describe him for that couple of seconds.

"Fuck's sake, just say _yes_, kid." Came a voice on the back of his neck. He jolted. _Yes_? That's all? He didn't realize he had been mumbling. Then he spoke a little surer of himself, and a little too loud.

"Yes!" He cried. Maurice laughed behind him.

"Alright," He said, picking Private's glass and taking a long glug of beer. "Now don't you be afraid of Boy here, Cupid, he's just gone through a few horrible things." The lady and the bartender ignored Private mouthing her name with a fool like expression. "You see," The grown man carried on, running a hand along his bearded cheeks up to his hair, "He _was_ dragged in by the _Penguins_."

Cupid gasped. "The _Penguins_?" She became worried as the words reached her mouth, turning around to hold the perplexed boy in her arms. "Oh poor thing." She pouted.

"What's your name?" His face was bright red, but something worried him within that conversation.

"Private." Private said. To her frown the frenzy re-conquered his senses. "No, no, I mean, my…." There was a pause as he shivered. "_Friends_…" he frowned. "Call me Private."

"By _Friends_ you don't mean…" Maurice eyed him suspiciously. Private frowned.

"They're the only thing I have, you know." He said. The atmosphere became quieter. Cupid wanted to listen, to ignore that little flame or grudge resting in her stomach. "I've thought about it. I can't just leave, or I'm dead already, so I'd rather at least get along with them."

There was a definite silence. Cupid was eyeing her hands beneath the counter, while Maurice cleaned Private's empty glass with a piece of cloth. If any of the other drunks had made an order he hadn't taken notice. Then the brunette jumped in her seat, driving her sight back to Private.

"You could come with us!" She cried, not expecting Maurice to jump forwards to cover her mouth, hoping that the noise of his actions would also cover her commentary.

"You crazy?" He muttered in a tone Private was barely able to hear. "That'd be suicide! You don't want Skipper and his boys to hear that…." His voice faded as he dug closer to her ear. Private would kill to hear what he has said then, but it was clear Maurice's intentions were otherwise.

By the time Maurice was done speaking Cupid had a reprimanded expression, as her previous excitement had been killed with whatever the bartender had told her. She eyed Private again, this time more shyly, pulling his hand into hers. Maurice turned away, mixing two bottles of something together in a glass.

"Listen," She gave him a sever look. "Don't do anything rash, but I promise…" A cough interrupted her. She lifted her eyelids to stare at something above Private, being quick to look away again, placing her hands around a drink, which she dug with her eyes. Maurice was spontaneously away, too, tending a different customer.

Private stared, aghast, at them both, until a hand fell over his shoulder, and his face paled with realization. He heard a grunt behind him.  
He stood, walking around Rico until Cupid couldn't have possibly seen him. The larger male span over himself, following Private. The boy then stood on his toes to get closer to Rico's ear and whispered:

"_Please don't tell Skipper_."

The red-head gave him a worried look, but nonetheless he grunted again, nodding. Private gave a half smile and walked along his companion, who placed a hand once more over his shoulder, towards a table on a further corner of the room.

Skipper and Kowalski, who had reintegrated the table after the game of bullshit and the strangers, had left with a little less money than they had arrived with. Rico pushed the boy forwards, close to slamming him to the table. At his sight the skipper's eyes widened, and a full heartedly smile grew along his cheeks.

"Private!" He cried, "How was your time with Mrs B?"

"Oh, emm, fine!" The boy chirped in response. His eyes darted to around the room nervously. "I guess." He wasn't going to risk another '_mistake'_ around his former leader.

"Great!" Skipper turned away to face Kowalski, "I told you he wouldn't die. Boys!" He called the last word expectantly, and it was followed by his comrades handing out a coin each over the table. Skipper laughed, retrieving the money, but he couldn't help to notice Rico's absent mind. He eyes the muscular mine, filling his own head with suspicions and for a while his comrades actions passed nonchalantly. Then a light clicked.

"Rico" He called. The boys interrupted their anxious conversation jolting their heads back to Skipper. "Where are our drinks?"

The alluded jumped again, lashing out a smile. He mumbled for a bit, "A'lest ay brough Priv'te" being the only comprehensible segment of his speech. He stood, walking away quickly, and Skipper's eyes narrowed once more.

"Kowalski," He smoothed the word just before his voice took a much stronger edge. "Report."

The tallest member of the gang took a glance to Rico's back, in fact, also concerning himself over whatever was unsettling his psychotic friend.

"I honestly don't know Skipper." Was his answer. "He does seem slightly… off."

"I can see that Kowalski. I want to know why." For this once the scientist didn't mind his leader's obnoxiousness and/or stupidity.

"Like I said, Skipper, I don't know."

Private felt a inch of guilt biting down his stomach. _Was this all about that cutie Cupid?_ A fool's grin spread through his face.

The three of them kept quiet in a moment of oblivion, each deluding into their own mania. Skipper was the first to snap awake, eyebrows jumping, and eyes suddenly focusing on Private's round face. He didn't bother to take mental notice of anything in particular out of his expression, and jumped right into a question the boy didn't just catch.

"Wha'?" He asked suddenly worried again. That also brought Kowalski into awareness.

"What brings you to New York?" Skipper asked again, taking a sip off his glass. "I mean, where are you from anyway? Nebraska or something?"

"_Britain_!" Private cried. "I'm from Great Britain! I've a Queen, mind you! _I thought I'd already told you that_…"

Skipper spat, giving Private the sudden urge to cry. Fortunately his statement hadn't caused the spit.

"_What the Hell did you bring me?_" He demanded, standing up and slamming his drink to the table. Rico rambled something as an answer.

"I said bring me _brandy_! Nor this _bourbon_ _shit_!" He barked. Private was nearly whimpering, focusing his sight anywhere but on his commander. Eventually his eyes fell back on Cupid. He wasn't sure what about her urged him to get closer, and just like that his brains jolted awake, and produced a plan, almost subconsciously to achieve so.

He interrupted Skipper's shouting by screaming himself:

"I'll go fix that!" He cried, snatching the bourbon away from the table and speeding off towards the bar.

Skipper smiled while his compadrés stared, astonished. Rico's brows folded into his forehead; _whatever was wrong with the guy?_

"See that," Skipper commented proudly. "Now _that's_ the sort of indulgence I'd speck from _you_ guys."

Private got to the bar nearly out of breath, though nonetheless, a smile spread across his face. Maurice mumbled something about his arrival, but Private couldn't have cared less.

"He wants brandy." He stated, not caring enough to even face the bartender. His attention was completely on Cupid.

"Hey," he breathed. The girl didn't acknowledge him, and instead searched her purse. He stared, with his sad puppy dog eyes, for the moment it took her to find a notepad and pen where she scribbled as fast as she could.

_can't talk, Theyll read my lips_. She waited for him to read her message.

_meet me _

_central park, 13h_

_alone. _

She underlined the last word twice before she stuffed her things back into her purse, taking her eyes back to her drink, as she had done, defensively, before. Private didn't even nod in time before Maurice reclaimed his attention.

"Here's yo' brandy, kid. Be safe."

He was rushing him. The boy gave one solemn glare, to no one in particulate, before he headed back into the table. He was something like halve way there when he heard laughter coming from destination, along with angered growls and glasses shaking.

"Get outta here, Ringtail!" Was the first understandable thing he heard.

The man seemed to take little or less notice of Skipper's command, while swaying a little bit on the spot behind Private's empty sit. The boy in question pondered on his walk to distribute nervous glances around his comrades and the stranger who Skipper had referred to as "Ringtail."

He wondered where all the weird nick names came from. Back in England people used to have normal names like John, or Smith, or John Smith. It got pretty repetitive from time to time. But again, he was sure not to have met many gang members back on his homeland.

Skipper continued to bark unnoticed orders towards the swaying man, who apparently had a undetermined ability to ignore every single one of them.

He had a tanned skin, while remaining a Caucasian. Even though, all of his features had a tint that took him back to England. Again. And he had freckles, too. More European than he'd think, while still conserving that foreigner quality. He would be a foreigner in England and he was probably one here too.

The whole incident felt somewhat familiar, maybe to Uncle Garret screaming out to Uncle Jim on the family reunions. Or maybe to his Grandfather trying to get his cousin Jake to "be a man" and take over the straw factory.

What really stroke him as weird was Rico's laughter breaking the tension (for everyone but the arguing couple).

"—Now _you're_ just being mad because _you_ aren't _king_; like I am" Ringtail exclaimed.

"You _aren't_ a king, Julien!" _Oh_, so this guy had a real name.

"I am! Now be shuttin' it up for a little." Private noticed that this Julien had a similar accent to the one the bartender had, only heavier and, to be frank, he sounded like an idiot.

"Ringtail…" Skipper growled. "_Get lost_."

"You _bossy penguin_ should be stopping the growling already. I start to think you're a _dog_ rather than a flightless bird."

It had begun to annoy Private. All he had to say was he's nineteen and Skipper put two bullets in his legs. He shrouded at the memory, being quick to refocus on his line of thought. Still, this _Julien_ was head-on _insulting_ him, and Skipper did nothing but _growl_ in response. He walked a few steps closer, almost colliding with Julien, who was taking his leave, with mad strong stomps that only lacked coordination.

He felt infinitely relieved to acknowledge he didn't spill the brandy.

The boy sighted, letting out a smile, while finally reaching the rest of _his_ gang, where Kowalski took over his glass-holding task, and took it on himself to offer the drink to their leader in a fruitless intent of cooling him off.

"_Why that piece of scum little bastard just needs to…_" Skipper muttered in between sips of brandy, Kowalski and Rico by his side, soothing his anger by resting hands on his shoulders.

"Why didn't you just hit him?" Private hadn't meant that out loud.

"_Why_ didn't I just hit him, _Private_?" Skipper's eyes scared him. He _definitely_ hadn't hoped to encourage the swearing. "_Why didn't I just punched the guts out of that rat faced asshole and even tore out his ugly poppy eyes…_"

Kowalski coughed to grab Private's attention over their leader's horrible mental images.

"Julien owns the place, Private." The scientist explained loud enough for the young man to hear him, while at the same time trying his best _not_ to interrupt Skipper's fury. "And plenty of other places. We pay him a fee and he gives us a little bit of immunity."

A knot in the younger man's stomach twisted and bent uncomfortably. He wasn't yet used to this illegal sort of things.

"That rat." Said Skipper, bringing his glass of brandy to his lips. "You know what, Kowalski?" He sounded a bit drunk already. _But maybe it was just _his_ accent_, though Private, with a little bit of spite. "I'm gonna find myself something pretty." Finished the leader, just before finishing his brandy.

He stood up and left, while the scientist's eyes followed. When he was gone, Kowalski continued his speech.

"Most people here share our… profession, and the authorities know it. But they still haven't managed to pin anything on us."

"Really?" Private asked, "But you, at the bank, were kind of… obvious."

Kowalski laughed to this, with a bit of pride in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, giving no further explanation. The Private frowned. There had been cops there. Lots of them. And there had also been witnesses. Wasn't that enough proof to lock the three criminals for a long, long time?

Lost in his thoughts, the boy hadn't noticed the taller man leaning closer to his side.

"They don't know we're still here!" He whispered with excitement. The scientist giggled, but it took Private a while to understand their current situation.

They stayed silent for a while. Kowalski wore the smile of naughty school boy who just plaid a prank on his teacher.

Rico's eyes stayed away from the duo, keeping a glass of beer always close to his mouth. He stared at the people, with his mind still bouncing back to Private's new friend. It wasn't good, damn it, it wasn't good.  
He liked to look around and watch the people, thinking about what he had done to each one of them. Stole a bike, spat on shoes, loaned money, stole money, bit… That's how he noticed the young woman walking in. The first thing he noted was her hair. He hadn't seen another redhead in such a long time. Even his own hair looked dark compared to how bright this woman's hair was. The second thing he noticed was that he knew who this woman was.

He poked Kowalski's side with his elbow, and the scientist followed his eyes in response, staring into the young woman, as something warned him that Skipper was staring at her too. This could only mean trouble.


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Trouble**

Heels clicked attracting all the attention to her. Even the singer had stopped singing, sending envious glares to the newcomer. Every other figure had clearly stiffened from her presence, she seemed to enjoy that. She fixed her fur lined coat over her short black dress before taking an empty seat on the table closer to the stage

"Who is she?" Private asked in a low voice, as he felt appropriate. It was obvious this girl had some sort of importance, as the bar went quiet as soon as she walked in.

"The chief's daughter. _Kitka_." Kowalski answered in a distressed whisper, while his eyes searched desperately for his leader.

"_Chief?_"

"Chief of police, Private! The police!"

"Oh," The boy wasn't too sure how to feel about that. Little time he had to reason before he noticed a mane of brown straight hair walking towards the exit. His heartbeat raced. By that time Kowalski was excusing himself from the table, mentioning something about Skipper and doing something stupid. Private couldn't care.  
His eyes rolled right into Rico, asking for permission. The tougher man sighted. The boy's situation could only take him back to Italy, many years ago, when he himself had fallen for the wrong girl. He nodded without returning his gaze, and in less that he could count the boy was away, making a run for it.  
Rico knew he'd come back.

"Ceileann searc ainimh 's locht," He commented to no one in particular, making a toast to himself.

.

Once she walked out of the bar Cupid could finally breath, free of the liquor and sweat smell from all of the drinking men inside. She didn't like to go on those reams alone, specially when she knew she was being watched. She hated that pressure, being watched by the Penguins, by Rudolph's men, by every male drinker in the room. That was the same reason Rudolph like to send her to make an act of presence, she knew how to make it.

But as she walked out she had so completely relaxed that when a hand reached her shoulder she jumped, fisting her hands and dropping her purse on motion.

"Cupid," Private panted. It felt good to use her name. Nickname. Whatever. His eyes travelled to the ground, where her purse laid at, and he chivalrously knelt to pick it up. He offered it back to her

"Private!" She answered worriedly. "What in the name of God are you doing?" She held the purse with one hand, not snatching it away completely.

"I just..." He hadn't really though about that. He lifted from the ground, keeping his head down, while thinking. He hid behind the locks of hair that made a wall between her and his eyes, hoping a brilliant idea would just reflect on them in time to appear a little less stupid before Cupid. The brunette lady shook her head, with a frown bending her mouth. It was then she, casually, noted that with her heels she must have been at least three inches taller than the boy, maybe just two if he stood up straight.

"Go back inside," She ordered, and his heart broke a little bit. "We'll see each other like we accorded."

"Like you accorded," He lifted his head, finding the assertiveness he had so desperately searched for. "Because I'd like to accord to see you every single moment of every single day, just to tell you how..." He stared into her eyes. Amber. She returned his gaze, and their glares where like a sea shore.

Private couldn't help to loose his train of though, mindlessly leaning in closer. Rendering her blush into the color of cotton candy, her skin into the feeling of silk, and her eyes into a infinity. "Wow." He finished, making her giggle. As so he decided her laughter sounded like the bells at St Peter's. He couldn't help to smile like a lunatic when his mind wandered into a church.

He was a fool, that was for sure, but she couldn't help to like him. He sure had a something. Cupid stared back at the boy with a smile. But she couldn't fall for every something. Most importantly if that something happened to belong to a penguin. Even as she plotted in her mind for ways to get him out of her rival gang, she was more than aware of the danger he represented. Falling for him would be the absolute most stupid thing she could possibly do. Unlike the boy who chuckled, not having let go of her purse, she wasn't as much of a fool. She was just, maybe, a sort of an altruist.

"We'll meet here tomorrow." She smiled reassuringly. "Promise."

Private nodded, and his eyes grew sad, like a puppies. "I'll be here." With that last statement he ran back inside.

.

As Rico placed down his cup he was just in time to watch Kowalski stumble with a table. He apologized, dully to the ruffians who sat there, for dropping his drinks, before re-assuming his track in search for Skipper.

Rico laughed full heartedly, beginning to get drunk from the memories and the alcohol. He missed the days when he was the fool chasing after the lover he wasn't meant to have.

Maybe since they were the same sort of people, in essence, that is, they had the same sort of experiences. Even the boy, what's-his-name, Private, liked taking risks, acting on impulse. That was the only characteristic they shared, and therefore they just got along naturally. A little bit. Some times. Most of the time, he decided. Save for the boy, who was still getting used to everything. But it was this assertiveness they shared that made them successful, even after getting them through all the trouble.

When Kowalski reached him it was all too late.

Skipper half smiled, standing directly behind his new prospect, ducking into her neck, sensing her smell, just before chuckling.

She faked being surprised.

"Good evening, beautiful," He said, walking around the woman until they were face to face. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I heard water was free on these bars,"

"But I could get you a soda for a buck or two." He answered quickly, taking the chair at her side. She leaned in, diving into his ear to whisper:

"Can I trust you won't spike it?" Skipper laughed quietly, oh, how he hated the prohibition. _I can promise you'd never know it._

"On this bar? How could I know?" He jolted, backing away from the redhead. "It's the first time I'm here," He added.

"Oh, I'm kidding you. Of course that wouldn't happen here, I know the bartender, he's a good man." She knew that even if _Skipper_, gang leader of the Penguins, didn't spike her drink, then the bartender, Maurice, would. Probably with something spiteful.

Skipper laughed again, enjoying this game.

It was a strange way of foreplay, which consisted on lying; even as both of they knew that the other was lying as well. Both seemed to enjoy this feigned secrecy; this game of cat and mouse where the rolls were much less than defined. They were a couple designed to destroy one another, even if they had been on the same side of the law, it was the only realistic prognostic for them, and Hell, they loved it. They were probably some of the biggest fish in the ocean, and as attracted as they were, one to the other, they most definitively couldn't coexist.

"So," He adventured again, "How can I address you as, little flower?"

"Bonny," _Kitka_, he thought as she offered her hand. "Then call me Clyde!" He chuckled, ducking his head closer to the gloved fingers.

"No, really, I'm Connor." _Skipper_, she though, as he kissed her.

.

Private was walking back into the bar, looking for the rest of his comrades. More specifically he was looking for Kowalski.  
He might have not spent much in The Zoo, but he already smelled something fishy about their, the penguin's (why _did_ they call them "penguins" anyway?), relationship with everyone else.  
Everyone seemed to be mad, afraid, or freaked out by their mare presence. Were they worse than the other buffs from the other tables? Did they all know they were criminals?  
Either way he needed to know more about it. He didn't want Cupid to be scared.

Of course it was Rico who knew about his little secret, but maybe if he talked to Kowalski and cleared things up, he'd be able to fix everything by himself and wouldn't have to say a thing about Cupid to the others.

Lost on his thoughts he walked among the bar's customers, half-mindedly trying to avoid any collisions with any of them. He was about half way across the bar when he spotted his man.

Kowalski was just a few meters away, trying to open his own path through the crowd. Private smiled, his heart lifting, and fastened his pace in the same direction.

His pace fastened, and as so, he began to stumble against more and more drunks. It was only a matter of time before he stumbled upon the _wrong_ drunks.

He cheekily apologized with a smile, making a second attempt to side step the table. But the table literally got in his way, as the brute who had previously sat before it lifted from his seat, and pushed the furniture inn.

Two men, at least twice his size, where looming around the table. The first of them smashed both fists into the table, and cards that had previously been laying there flew up, an ace landing on Private's forearm.

"You gonna pay for the drinks you spilled!" He cried in an awkward high pitched voice that didn't even slightly match his body mass. He didn't mind that he had spilled one of those drinks himself, when he banged the table.

"I don't know about you, Bada," He said, this time directed to his companion, who had four cards on his hand, all of them aces, "But I'm getting tired of all of these Penguins running into our table." _Again with the 'penguins' thing_.

"I say, Bing," Said the second male, in a much more intimidating voice. "We make the little one pay."

Somehow the table was no longer in the way, and both men approached Private, holding up their fists.

.

Marlene, the singer, had left the stage, and a band had replaced her act, bringing a much better mood over the audience. The pulling of strings along with the trumpet's short notes in an upbeat rhythm almost perfectly matched Kowalski's march across the bar in Skipper's direction. He could spot them already. _Laughing_. He wasn't sure what sort of anger he felt at the moment: the one that came from disappointment in his leader's intelligence, or maybe just jealousy. He didn't even have the time to analyze.

Wood scratching wood isn't a very unpleasant sound. It would hardly call for attention if it wasn't for the glasses shaking, falling, and breaking.  
But glasses shaking, falling, and breaking is a common sound inside a bar.

Whatever it was that called for their attention, it's inscrutable.

Or maybe it just happened to be Private's unmanly cry for help.

.

He shut his eyes, shrieking, and ducking his head into his chest, thinking that wrapping his arms around it would somehow protect him of a beating. There was so much noise around him, chairs scratching the floor, paces coming closer, the _damned music_. He wasn't sure whether it was Bada or Bing who took the first punch. Either way he jumped a little bit, expecting the pain. It didn't hurt half as much as he imagined. Probably because the hit never reached him. He opened his eyes, bewildered and peaked over his shoulder, slowly releasing his head.

Rico stood on his back, holding back Bada's hand with a menacing glare. He mumbled something none of them understood, and took a swing himself at the taller man's face. Just as he did a second fist reached into his stomach, and the Mohawk snarled, turning to return Bing's favor.

The Mohawk had to slide a foot away, to keep his stance, adopting a low posture from which he could avoid a few punches from the much taller men.

Bing was close to make a move, when a kick on the knee took him three steps back, into a different table. The men who had sat at said table began to shout as well, walking their way across to join the fight.

Rico and Bada exchanged punches, both men starting to bruise, with broken lips, and bleeding noses, but Bing had no trouble in throwing the one of newcomers over the table and striking the second straight in the face. He had free time for Private.

The noise was growing, but the low thuds from the punches, and the grunted "ughs" from the punched, served only as a base for the quick passed music.

The large, brunette, gorilla like male, Bing, took hold of Private's shirt and lifted his little frame with a laugh. The boy grunted something nobody heard over Bada's scream, as Rico brought his knee up to the blonde's abdomen, then back down to his toes.

"You are dead." He mouthed. Private was sweating cold.

He was abruptly pulled down, his comrade's doing, and then back up by his adversary. This went on for a couple of seconds, bruising the boy's neck and ripping his white shirt. After the third time Bing grew sick of it and directed a punch straight into Rico's faces, who having been too busy blocking Bada's punch to his stomach, met the dark haired man's fist straight across the cheek, and fell two steps back.

Both men now gloomed over Private.

"Listen mates; let's not get things any messier..."

They didn't bother answering. They exchanged glances before they raised fists up to the little guy's face. He gave out a scream before both brutes fell onto him. Quiet literally.

He was half way getting up from under the unconscious bodies of his aggressors when he noticed Skipper, and Kowalski, and the two broken chairs that probably did the job of knocking Bada and Bing out.

Skipper smiled a sincere smile, rubbing his palms together. The scientist also looked somehow pleased with himself.

"Hey, haven't I told you yet?" His leader said, bending a knee, and leaning slightly to his left. "_Never swim alone_."

Private had a feeling his comrades got a kick out of posing. Nonetheless he seemed so sure of his words, words that felt somehow absolute, like a credo or maybe an incantation, that it reassured the boy. These people were bad. They were criminals. But they were with him. It would take years for him to put words into that feeling, but he knew he didn't feel afraid anymore.

"C'me on," Spoke Skipper again in a playful low voice, "Let's get outta here before Ringtail makes us pay for his chairs!"


	9. Not a Chapter

Dear (if) (un)existant readers.

The story you have been following, if you have been following it and not just happened to pass by and simply skip to this last chapter, perhaps because the title seemed more pleasing than the previous ones, I am sorry to say, has not yet been updated. In fact, it will not be updated in another while. But I am also sorry to report that the author has discontinued (his) (her) plans to discontinue this miserable and insulting story.  
On another note, in the meantime, expression which in the Author's words means "while you fools wait for an actual chapter to be published", the author has decided to answer through the reviewing system any of the following questions, or any other doubts that may have been left from the previous chapters, such as, but not limited to:

- Will Skipper ever accept Private's real name/age/gender?

- Is Sir Nigel T. still looking for his godson?

- Has Rico ever had a real girlfriend?

- Where did Julien come from?

- Why would they call him Skipper? (Or, while you're at that, you might as well ask: How did Manfreddi and Johnson survive so many deaths?)

- Young lady, have you been good to your mother?

- What could happen at a campfire?

Or Why, oh _why_ would anyone write this awful and wicked story?

As for your wait, I will be happy to present you, as an interlude, a fragment of a developing story by yours truly, which might be much more decent, if not at least, much more woeful that the one you are currently reading.

**The Love Story**

_Day 81 (late noon)  
_

"Johnson," She said, still not looking back at him, "do you believe in love?"

He studied her profile, the small curve between her brows and her nose, to the prominent shape of her lips. When he answered his voice was raspy, as it was whenever he used to be insecure.

"Why do you ask?"

There was a silence in which he followed her lashes up to heavens, while at the same time he felt himself lower and lower into his stomach. His fingers tied up in fists as he waited for her to speak first.

"I don't." She commented simply, answering her own question rather than his.

And as a third pause tried to waltz back into their conversation, She felt the urge to talk faster, trying to make Johnson understand, if he ever would, or if he didn't already.

"Mary is pregnant, and she isn't married yet, but she says it's okay because she's in love, and she says he's in love with her too, and that they're getting married soon. But they don't have enough money to pay for a big wedding, but she says it's ok, because they're in love. Do you believe in love, Johnson?"

His head shook back to her, this time more violently, and he lifted half of his body up with one elbow and one hand, on a forced and tense position, in which he could stare directly at her face. He had fear in his eyes, he was worried.

She still didn't see him.

"Are you…" He didn't even dare finish his question.

"No." She said, and he felt well enough to lay his head back on the grass, with a sight. Then that vicious silence sped right in, not minding the discomfort growing into both of their chests, nor about how awkward it became for her to lay there, not knowing his answer to her question, and for him to lay next to her, not knowing the answer for his.

"Why do you ask?" He wanted to know.

"Do you believe in love?" So did She.

When neither of them answered She spoke again. Once again her voice sounding desperate. Once again feeling urged that way.

"I don't believe in love," She said, making a pause after the statement to gather the strength to speak again. "Because everybody says love feels great, but all it ever does is hurt me. Every time he… every time, I just feel like something is trying to suffocate me from the inside, and I just want to cry every time he leaves, and sometimes I even do. This _love_ just makes me feel sadder and sadder. Why would Mary want to marry a man for something that just makes her feel sadder and sadder? Why does she say everything is ok if she's feeling sadder and sadder?  
And you could say what I feel isn't love, but I just know it is, because as much as it hurts me I just need him. I really do need him, Johnny, but love can't be real if it's just meant to hurt you. You know?"

Johnson thought about his answer. He always thought about his answers.

"Then you _do_ believe there is love, you just don't believe it's a good thing, like people say it is."

"I don't understand" She said, and he wasn't sure if she meant to answer his statement or her own, but nonetheless he smiled when he answered.

"You know, the Romans used to say that love also had parents. They said that his father was the god of abundance, who had the human form of a handsome, and charismatic man. Love's mother, on the other hand, was the goddess of misfortune and misery, who had the shape of a woman who was always lonely because nobody ever wants to be around misery. But they met at a party and really liked each other. One would say, now, that they fell in love with each other. But love was really born from their affairs, even if they could never really be together."

"Is that so? Really?"

"Sure," He knew it wasn't true; he had made it up from something he heard and couldn't remember. But it had made her smile nonetheless.

"I guess the god of abundance really looked like Manfreddi."

Suddenly Johnson wasn't sure he didn't mind about them, as a whirlwind started in his stomach and his cheeks forced a grimace on his face.

"Do _you_ believe in love, Johnson," She looked at him. _At last_. She was smiling.

Johnson looked away, and this time his lips pulled away in a smile. "I've never been in love," He said taking his eyes back to her. "But Manfreddi said that when you are in love it makes you want to jump into the water and swim until you reach the bottom, then pick out a stone or anything and come back out to her, just to prove it."

"How does that prove it?" Her voice was angry now. Had something upset her? His eyes were unjustifiably warmer when he spoke again.

"Because it takes all of the courage on the world to do either thing."

Of course she didn't know of how Manfreddi's father had drowned after crashing down his airplane on the water, leaving both boys devastated and miserable, and fearful of water.

There were a lot of things she didn't know. Thus she was blissful, for most of the time. That was the way Johnson had figured out things work.

_.-.*.-._

Of course, it would be safe to say that this fragment might as well turn out to be the only fragment ever published of "The Love Story". (Although, if I were you, I would be wary of this woeful and cliché-ed story of a love triangle, disinterest, insistence, war, and the eventual death of two young pilots by crashing into the ocean.)

With no other premises, I must leave you yet again on the wait of the following chapter. It might be a while before the actual seventh chapter of Stained Conscience is pusblished, but I warn you, it will be. The Author, unfortunately, has already plotted through the end, and hopefully this will pierce through (his) (her) subconscious until the story is at last finished, and, therefore, buried in the ground where it will never see the sun again.

With my sincere regards and all due respect,

Av.


End file.
